Trapped
by Dreamfantasy13
Summary: What would have happened if Bran sprung the trap, and not Mel? If Mel didn't immediatly hate Danric? If everything had been different...? R&R!
1. Bran Springs A Trap

Switching Places

By Rebecca Patch

Chapter One 

**Bran Springs A Trap**

Disclaimer: I own none of the fantastical, wonderful, amazing… (Goes on, and on, and on…) characters in this story—they belong to Sherwood Smith. The only thing that is mine is the oddness of the plot and the warping (hopefully not too bad) of the characters, and possibly new characters.

I glanced at the sky apprehensively. It was dark—the stars shone brightly from their simple pockets of sky. The weaving of black trees around me felt safe—but I knew that nothing was safe, not until this cursed war was over.

For the hundredth time in the past hour I thought of Bran. My brother was out there doing only-he-knew-what.

Once again, I wished for the war to end. Although I knew the justness and importance of our struggle, the entirety of the thing, being a commander and all, was more than a bit tiring.

I sat down on a tree stump and rubbed my tired eyes. Each day seemed to drag on forever, an eternity in only a few hours. My stomach complained—when was the last time I had eaten?

I lifted my eyes to the stars again, as if attempting to glimpse from them some wisdom from them that I could not seek nor find myself. The stars simply shone back, as beautiful, blank, and silent as ever.

I turned, to head back to the camp.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a feeling of unease crept over me. Something was amiss.

I crept stealthily, stirring not a twig, into the dense foliage to my right. I knelt in the shadows of the dense bushes and trees, listening intently. The wind carried no trace of sound—humanoid, or otherwise—to my searching ears.

Despite the coolness of the evening, my body felt aflame. I could not say why—but I still carried this distinct feeling of unease, which rippled through my body like the tide.

I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. The air was still—to still. Still as death.

As I craned my ears for some sound, any sound at all, I was rewarded. A sharply metallic _klingg! _shot through the night air.

It seemed another of our traps had gone off.

Although I detested laying animal tracks to pick off Galdran's men, I had to face the facts. 1) We were badly outnumbered, and 2) They were breaking the Code of War. And, although the thought of trapping human beings like animals sickened me, it was better than the alternative.

I smiled slightly at the idea of the enemy being caught in yet another trap.

Unhurriedly, I made my way back to camp. I loved walking under the stars, with the night air blowing through my hair. I seemed so alone up here—it was as if I owned the whole mountains. I was so… free.

Camp, much to my surprise, was a flurry of activity. I frowned slightly. This much activity could only mean that something had happened to tip the scales—on way or another. I needed to find Bran, or Khesot, our general, and quickly.

I ran through the throngs of agitated people, pushing my way past them until I reached my tent. Oria was waiting for me. She held a tray in one hand, bearing a small amount of food, and some water, and a worried frown creased her pretty forehead.

"What is it?" I asked, immediately.

The frown deepened. "Mel—you mean… you do not know…?"

"Know what?" I asked intently, beginning to feel quite worried.

My worry increased three-fold when Oria did not answer. "It's not my place," she said, reluctantly, "I'll find Khesot. Stay right here."

I frowned. Since when did Oria order me around? I followed her orders—I knew that if she was giving _me_ orders, then it was for a very important reason.

Khesot arrived within five minutes.

I could tell from his face that something was wrong. "What is it?" I asked.

His eyes looked worried. "Countess…" He said, and trailed off.

"What is it?" I asked, thoroughly scared.

"It's your brother…"

"What about Bran?"

The silence was interminable. It remained unbroken for what seemed like forever. Khesot licked his lips as he watched my face, unsure of what to say.

"The enemy's got him."

The world seemed to spin….

_The enemy's got him._

_The enemy's got him._

_Got him. Got him… the enemy…_

"How did this happen?"

"Stumbled into a trap," Khesot said. "I guess you were right about them."

"When?" I asked, numb from shock.

"Had to have been under an hour ago," Khesot said, "We got the news just before you arrived."

My throat constricted. I knew when the trap had gone off. After all, I had heard it. Heard it, and laughed, thinking it the enemy.

"But Bran knew how to dissemble them," I whispered.

Khesot made a face. "He didn't have time, my lady."

I whirled around, attempting to make sense of what he had said. I needed to scream—but that would alert the enemy to our position.

"What do you propose we do?" I asked.

Khesot made another face. "Normally, I'd say attack, take 'em by surprise, and get Bran back. However…"

"What?"

"There's a possibility that they don't know who he is. If we go after him, it will leave them without a doubt. Then Galdran has bargaining power."

I pondered for the merest of seconds. "It's a chance we'll have to take." I said, "We don't know how much they know, but we can't leave him there."

Khesot nodded. "Very good, my lady."

I walked from the tent, surprisingly calm.

Author's Note: Sorry about the incredibly short chapter. I hope you like it! Read, and review my friends!


	2. Two Attacks Later

Disclaimer: I own none of Sherwood Smith's characters. She is wonderful. I am not. End of story…

Author's Note: I don't know if Mel had a spy…. but she does now! (Cackles evilly…)

POV: LETTA (SPY OF MEL)

The camp was in an uproar. Tlanthian soldiers had struck their—ahem, our—ranks twice today. The first had been a complete surprise. Most soldiers were completely unaware that their forces had captured an enemy soldier, caught in his own trap.

I was only aware of this fact because I was in the high employ of the Marquise. I had personally thought it fishy, that I, a spy of the Countess of Tlanth was able to find a place so high in the troops. In fact, I still found it fishy. I had risen _extremely _quickly, even for a brilliant strategist and healer. I personally believed that the Marquise knew what I was—however, he never let on.

Naturally, you wonder why I did not share these opinions with the Countess. Some mistresses, want all the gossip—the Countess does not. She wants the hard, cold facts, not the supposed's.

I had been the one to report to the Countess that her brother was in the hands of the enemy. What she didn't know was that I was the one to find him, on my way to report. Unfortunately, others came by at the same time as me, and I was unable to pull him to safety.

I knew now that the Marquise knew whom the Count was, and I had been assigned as his healer. Naturally, Branaric did not recognize me, as he didn't know that his sister employed spies in the enemy's camp. I was unable to give him a message—Lord Debegri was watching me the entire time as I set a poultice on Count Branaric's wounds.

I knew now that the Countess' forces could not attack again—they had lost the element of surprise. I also knew something else—Bran was being moved.

POV: MEL

I ground my teeth in frustration. We had attacked the camp twice, taking out a good number of soldiers. Unfortunately, we had not been able to locate Bran, although our spy, Letta, knew he was under the Marquise of Shevraeth's guard. The enemy, of course, now knew exactly who Bran was, and we could not attack again—we had lost the element of surprise.

I ground my teeth again. It could not be good for my teeth—but this was extremely ground-your-teeth-worthy.

And now, today, Letta had informed us that Bran, and, to our surprise, the commander of the army, the notorious Marquise of Shevraeth, had begun their journey to Athanarel. And Galdran. It made me feel sick to my stomach.

I wanted, naturally, to charge after Bran, and rescue him. (The great lummox)

However, this was neither likely, nor possible. The main reason being that I could not leave the army. Although the Marquise had left, Debegri was still there. (As far as we knew)

What I needed, I decided, after a day of pacing, was something to occupy my mind. What I also needed was a plan—I needed something to get Bran back, and if that was impossible, then I needed something to annoy the enemy troops.

Sighing, I returned to my tent—I had a quick meeting with Letta coming up. When I arrived in the tent, Letta was already there. I nodded my head by way of apology, and sat down across the small table from her.

"Do we have anything new on Debegri? Or, for that matter, what can you tell me about the Marquise of Shevraeth?" I asked.

Letta gave a slight wince. "Do you want my opinion, or the facts?"

"Facts first, then opinion," I said, impatiently. I wanted to resume my pacing.

Letta sighed. "The Marquise is tall, with pale blonde hair and gray eyes."

I nodded. "I know that. Do you know anything about him besides what he looks like? Or have you spent all your time looking at him?"

I immediately regretted my words. "Sorry," I muttered, "I'm just… stressed."

Letta nodded. "The Marquise, generally known around Court, is a… a fop." She stumbled slightly over the unfamiliar term—she, and the other commoners, rarely called noblemen names, even if they were true. "He is obsessive about his clothes, jewels, hair—his appearance in general. Or so it appears. He is quite fond of horseracing, betting, gambling, flirting… etc. And, of course, laying wagers. He quite recently placed one with his cousin, Lord Savona, which bet that he could capture one of you."

I nodded. From there, I knew everything—including the details of that _bet_!

"You said you had some opinions. What were they?"

Letta looked uncomfortable. "I… I don't really think he's a fop." She said, in a rush, "He knows what he's doing—and, for some reason, he's not going all-out on us. He's… helping us."

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. "Thank you, Letta. That was amusing." I said, gasping for breath. My laughter, combined with the stress of recent days, nearly sent me into hysterics, and I squeezed some stingflower under my nose, and got under control.

"And Debegri? What have we got on him?" I asked, finally.

"Not much—it's hard to get near him. However, it was his plan to immediately kill your brother, and the Marquise delayed it." I waved off the 'proof' of the Marquise' good intentions. "In the meantime, he's getting complacent. He thinks, that with your brother gone, that we will be helpless. He's been eating and drinking and behaving luxuriously for some days now."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you, Letta."

Letta nodded, and turned to leave. "I do think that you should consider the Marquise," she said, hesitantly. I nodded, not really listening.

"Thank you, Letta."

As soon as she was out of earshot, I burst out laughing. It felt good to laugh—I could swear that I hadn't laughed in months. I think I nearly ruptured a rib laughing. Suddenly, Letta's words came back to me. "Eating, drinking, luxurious…."

I smiled wickedly. I had a plan.

"You want to do what?" Khesot asked, bewildered.

"Lead Debegri on a game of… oh, Follow-the-Leader…" I smiled.

"Why?" Khesot asked.

"To give him some exercise," I said, smiling wickedly.

By sundown, Khesot and I had formulated a plan.

"Why?" Oria asked me, as I prepared for bed.

I gave her the same smile and answer that Khesot had received. "To give them some exercise."

Author's Note: Okay, I know it was not only a short chapter, but an uninteresting short chapter. But hang with me! It'll get better… I hope. So review, please—and include any ideas you like! I love hearing them!

**And thank you to FelSong, Willow-41z, … , FlyAway, Icelands, and Ekirth! Thanx:-)**


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